


window

by kuill, kurenix



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: College AU, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Windows - Freeform, thirst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-13 07:25:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10509084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuill/pseuds/kuill, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurenix/pseuds/kurenix
Summary: He didn't mean to stare. But when you're high on a mix of cocoa powder and instant coffee at 4am at night and you see someone stretching languidly in the neighbouring block, your first instinct isn't always the best one.Let's say he's still studying. Observational skills are very important for an astrophysicist, and there are many things to observe about this cosmic phenomenon. For example, the kid in the windowa. has no regard for personal privacy whatsoever.b. lounges on his school-issued swivel chair like he owns the world.c. is beautiful.--A College AU fic where Shiro and Keith are students living in the same dormitory. They share several things: they are both missing their souls, they are both dehydrated, and their windows line up just right.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We'd like to say a huge thank you to the windows of our dorms. Please do not actually stare at your neighbour for long periods of time through the window without them knowing. Remember that consent is important. Unfortunately we can't guarantee that if you stare at someone through their window for long enough they will fall in love with you. :U

**[Week 1, Wednesday, 0406]**

He didn't mean to stare. But when you're high on a mix of cocoa powder and instant coffee at 4am at night and you see someone stretching languidly in the neighbouring block, your first instinct isn't always the best one.

Let's say he's still studying. Observational skills are very important for an astrophysicist, and there are many things to observe about this cosmic phenomenon. For example, the kid in the window

a. has no regard for personal privacy whatsoever.  
b. lounges on his school-issued swivel chair like he owns the world.  
c. is beautiful.

It almost seems like a waste not to take notes about this. Not like he'll need to, because he won't forget those rich inky locks spilling around that delicate neck, the two slender arms, that-

Oh shit, he's not wearing anything under his sweater. It rides up as he stretches to reveal a tantalising stretch of pale, soft skin-

Do astrophysicists have a sense of shame? Yes?... Well then, it's time for Shiro to switch majors.

   

**[Week 2, Monday, 2143]**

Shiro knows his name now. Keith Kogane — written large and sloppy on a nametag as he trudged through the school field in the rain for freshman orientation. He was wearing the _ugliest_ orientation shirt, salmon pink dry-tech soaked through with water and mud. And by god, he still looked good.

When Shiro catches him out the window again later that day, Keith's just out of the shower. And _fuck,_ he's got nothing but a bath towel draped over his chest and a scowl bitter enough to shame all the world's coffee.

Shiro almost has it in him to blush. Almost. But then Keith flops onto the bed beside the window and kicks his legs carelessly up onto the windowsill to catch a little bit of the nighttime breeze. And that’s when Shiro realises that pretty boys will almost always own pretty ankles.

   

**[Week 2, Friday, 0158]**

It's almost a nightly routine now. Get back from class, problem sets, look out the window for an eye break, readings, shower, more problem sets, another eye break. Maybe he's taking more eye breaks than strictly necessary.

Keith's got almost the same study routine as him, except he spends less time working and more time doing everything but — scrolling Facebook, playing phone games (Shiro swears he can see Candy Crush), and eating trash. A lot of trash.

Today the delicacy on Keith’s _fuck my health_ menu is a cup of instant carbonara macaroni. He packs it all away using salt and vinegar crisps as spoons — the kid doesn't use spoons for small matters like these, he knows where it's at; Shiro almost wishes he'd thought of the idea sooner — and picks up the last scraps of ham with his tongue while his eyes remain determinedly glued to the screen.

Keith licks his fingers to clean them and honest to god Shiro feels his own hand twitch.

This is too much. He's going to bed.

   

**[Week 4, Thursday, 0529]**

Shiro wonders what Keith is majoring in. The fact that he's still a freshman and keeping up with Shiro's endless nights is mildly worrying, although Shiro didn't exactly keep sane hours in his first year either.

At least Keith still goes to bed before Shiro does. He finishes his work at roughly 3AM but loiters around till 4-ish before switching off the lights. Getting a last round of Candy Crush in, polishing off a chip packet, dotting on some skin cream (does he have acne? from here his skin looks porcelain smooth). Shiro always manages to catch the exact moment when Keith's room goes dark, and feels empty after it does.

He can't see Keith properly when he's lying down, so it isn't until tonight when Keith flicks on the desk lamp to take a drink of water that Shiro learns he sleeps without a shirt on.

  

**[Week 4, Friday, 2134]**

Keith is squeezing at his desk with a friend, another kid with disastrous caramel hair and a guffaw that wrecks his entire body. The table has never been all that organised to begin with, but the addition of Caramel's stuff is enough for the room to qualify as a Class 1 Tornado Impact Site. Keith's lip moves and Caramel throws back his head in laughter, knocking over yet another pile of books and papers without so much as a glance of acknowledgement.

Yes, Shiro is upset about this, because this new boisterous companion has crash landed in the quiet space that Shiro has lowkey staked his name on.

The only consolation, if it can be a consolation at all, is that Keith is in a loose cotton shirt that makes him look homelier than Shiro thought possible. And it's not all bad because he keeps seeing flashes of Keith's grin, wild and untamed like his friend, and that's something else Shiro has never seen before.

  

**[Week 5, Thursday, 2229]**

It takes Shiro about a week to realise that Caramel reminds him a lot of Matt. They're Skyping tonight, Shiro in the murky humid of tropical night and Matt with a blizzard raging behind the door as he prepares for fieldwork. Matt promises to call again soon, but Shiro knows he doesn't have the time. He misses him.

Meanwhile, it looks like Keith's finally made some friends — three of them piled into his room for what looks like a group meeting, or maybe just a trash-talking session. There's a kid with short brown hair who gestures a lot when he talks and punches Keith in the shoulder like he's trying to prove himself, and there's another with a bright orange bandanna trying to get the group on task but doing a terrible job of it. Caramel's sprawled on the bed with his glasses askew, and Keith — with no more room on his chair or his bed he's moved to the ledge just beyond the windowsill, his full body arranged in profile and lit softly from the back.

Keith looks happy. Matt asks Shiro what he's looking at, but Shiro brushes it off — they don't have enough time to talk about a boy he doesn't even know.

 

**[Week 5, Friday, 0928]**

Shiro is greeted by drool all over his trackpad and 30 messages from Matt shaming him for his awful habits ( _You have to stop falling asleep on your laptop!!!!!!, when I next see you I'm kicking your ass_ ) and across the block Keith's room is still crammed uncomfortably full with people.

Whatever good mood the trio brought to Keith's room has all but soured into something so thick and acrid that Shiro can taste it. Staying in such a tiny room in close proximity to people you're working with simply isn't good for your mental health. Yes, Shiro knows this all too well.

Right on cue, thunder rolls in from nowhere and it begins to pour, the wind howling and slamming itself against the walls. Keith gets up from his perch on the desk and walks over to close the window.

Keith takes his time with a sweeping, lazy glance, stealing a moment to admire the splotches of rain against concrete — his attention refocusing, settling on Shiro.

It's quite by accident, but nothing screams accident quite like Shiro yanking his entire body out of sight like a frightened dog.

He's sinned. He's sinned, he's caught, and he's going to hell. By the time he gathers himself enough to attempt a second glance, the windows to Keith's room are closed, the blinds are drawn, and everything else is lost in the silvery veil of rushing water.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all your support ;u;;;; we're just too shy to thank you guys, i mean, we'll try to thank each and every one of you but we're just squirming happily at every comment. it means so much more than we can say. enjoy this bit :)

**[Week 6, Monday, 0002]**

The blinds are still down.

  

**[Week 6, Wednesday, 0247]**

It hasn't rained for the past few nights. His blinds are still down.

  

**[Recess Week, Monday, 2132]**

Shiro's home for the break. Officially it's because Matt's in the country for a few days by some miracle, and their houses are nearer than dorm. And Shiro doesn't want to sit alone in his room with all his friends on exchange, gazing out at an empty sky.

Today they're holed up in the den at Matt's place, stretched out in thin T-shirts and shitty shorts and lounging under the air-conditioning at full blast. The smell of cinnamon hangs in the air, sickly-sweet and cloying after the full seven-course meal Mrs Holt cooked (seven, up from three, because she kept shoving more pie onto Shiro's plate, and if there's one habit he brought with him from Japan, it's always, _always_ finish the food your hosts dish out to you) mingling with the strange, woody smell of Matt's half-unpacked suitcase.

Matt's reciting the contents of his fieldwork manual from memory just because he can and Shiro is only saved from this endless tirade of terms he doesn’t know because a crash echoes from downstairs and footsteps are pounding closer, and closer and—

"Matt!"

The door nearly slams right off its hinges and a bolt of marmalade orange hair streaks past, tackling Matt to the floor in a tangle of limbs and breathless laughter, and the luggage and all its lab books fall over and nobody cares because "Pidge, come on— Pidge wait— Shiro, this is Pidge. Say hi! I can't believe you guys have never met. You’re in the same _course!_ "

Pidge and Matt: splitting images. Pidge turns to him with a wild grin, an untamed grin, glasses askew — _Keith's grin._

"Hi," Shiro says, consciously noting how his next question _Do you know someone called Keith?_ is so aching to make itself heard.

  

**[Week 7, Sunday, 2232]**

Of course Pidge knew Keith. And of course, Pidge knew Shiro wasn't asking because he didn't know if Pidge knew Keith. Not that Pidge truly had much of an idea what was going on, just that Keith had mentioned seeing a guy out the window — a guy with a tuft of prematurely greying hair growing right out of the forelock.

("It's from the stress," Shiro quipped when asked. "You'll understand by year two." Pidge just stared at him, eyebrow raised, until Shiro caved and admitted that everything but a few strands was bleached to hell and back. It looked cool, okay??)

Shiro tried with everything he had to tell Pidge _please tell him I'm sorry and I'm not a creep_ without actually saying it, but by the end of the week he wasn't sure if he'd succeeded. So here he is, lugging all his things back into the stuffy dorm room, ready for another night of lonely readings and regret.

Except that when Shiro turns to the window, he sees that Keith's window is burning with light. And there's the boy himself, arms crossed over the windowsill as casual as could be, weight on his elbows and damp hair curled on his neck from a shower and sharp, dark eyes looking right at him.

Shiro fights the cold shiver running down his entire body and finds he's unable to move, caught in the proverbial headlights with his metaphorical pants down and hands figuratively red.

Uselessly, several backup plans hit him _(jump out the window to his death, avoid all future embarrassment by asking for a change of rooms ASAP, run over and beg for forgiveness)_ —

And then Keith, with an apathy befitting a spoiled, sun-kissed cat, gathers himself together and resumes his nightly routine, taking his drink of water and playing his last round of Candy Crush with Shiro gawking senselessly where he stands.

And when Keith finally turns out the lights and disappears from Shiro's world, it is as if nothing has happened between them.

  

**[Week 7, Monday, 0947]**

A bite of ham sandwich goes down the wrong way when he glances out towards Keith's window and Keith is there watching him.

And thus the observer becomes the observed. Shiro learned this vaguely in a general education class, something about hipster anthropology where researchers basically wrote papers about themselves, deliberately making themselves uncomfortable for the sake of undermining institutional practices. Shiro didn't gain much from that class, he just didn't _get_ it.

Now he understands painfully well. Trying to breathe around the chunk of meat and dissolving bread in his mouth is bad enough, but somehow the knowledge that Keith's eyes are trained on him just a few dozen metres away is _even worse than dying._

Shiro chokes, swallows, and inhales. Then he looks up to see just the faintest quirk of a smile dancing on Keith's lips.

Worth it.

 

**[Week 8, Tuesday, 1144]**

They've fallen into a routine again. And now they both know the other exists and aren't afraid to stare, not anymore, they catch each other even more often.

It turns out they both have a free Tuesday morning, and that they both take the chance to remain dead to the world until almost noon every time. Shiro rolls out of bed to see a matching bed head through the window, except Keith's is about three times more dramatic due to sheer volume alone. It's barely recognisable as a mullet anymore and Shiro can't help but snort when he sees it. Keith blinks his bleary eyes, gives Shiro the finger, and heads off to wash his face.

First contact.

 

**[Week 9, Wednesday, 0444]**

It's that time in the semester where Shiro just about stops sleeping. He can feel his soul leaking out through his eyeballs. Nothing matters. _Nothing matters_ except the impending arrival of the grim reaper at the end of the week, when he sits for the midterms of the blood-thirstiest professor in astrophysics. He can already see the headlines: Top Student Shirogane Takashi Found Dead In His Room After Asphyxiating On His Lecture Notes.

Leaning back on his chair pops all the bubbles in his old joints and he contemplates becoming one with the floor and giving up on particle physics for good.

It's just that time of the night.

Free from such dismal thoughts Keith has somehow coiled his body to balance on the window frame and has fallen asleep against the glass, a book in hand — Shiro makes out the unmistakable cover of _Kafka on the Shore_ that had been on sale at the bookshop few days ago. As if responding to the weight of Shiro's eyes on him, Keith curls into himself a little more.

He’s so careless and unguarded and _soft_ that Shiro feels like he’s intruding, but also like he wants to look at him forever. Alas, that perfect idea of _forever_ has to be interrupted by yet another series of planetary physics problem sets, which is something awfully insulting for the miracle nestled against the window opposite his.

 

**[Week 9, Friday, 1540]**

The midterm goes better than expected, and Shiro returns to his room, drops all his books and notes on the desk, and fights the urge to lie down and sleep for three straight days. But by now it's gravity, the way he finds himself at the window before anything else, even when his entire body is screaming exhaustion and he knows for a fact that Keith won't be there. The freshmen in their college have a 3-5PM seminar every Friday, and for some unfathomable reason Keith has skipped none of them.

Yet there he is, sitting at his laptop with a mountain of crumpled tissues on his desk and a tissue booger hanging out of his nose. Eventually he looks up (maybe for an eye break, or maybe it's habit too) and when he discovers Shiro he—

Despite obviously looking and feeling like absolute hell, he flashes Shiro a thumbs up and an inquiring expression. Asking _how'd it go._

Shiro sticks his thumb up back at him. Even if he'd washed out on the midterm, he would have.

 

**[Week 10, Thursday, 2131]**

Their first conversation (yes, Shiro knows it’s not quite conversation but _hey, a man needs to dream)_ does not result, as most alien-encounter films might have it, in an explosion of further communication (or literal explosions and laser guns). But now that a precedent has been set, they check in on each other now and then. A wave, a sigh, a smile. It's nice.

Today someone on Shiro's floor asks him to the end-of-sem dinner.

Frankly, the end-of-sem dinner hasn't been something he's worried about. In fact Matt takes it upon himself to set Shiro up with someone _every time_. And when Matt's not dipping his fingers into every pie, Shiro gets approached by astrophysics juniors, sometimes the participants from the orientation camp he helps organise.

This year he gives his customary apologetic smile and a "No offense, buddy — I just don't do end of sem dinners" to a kid with tousled black hair and he finds himself wondering just how Keith would look in a pressed suit, whether he would slip onto the too-crowded dance floor with sleek grace or high-strung energy, or whether they'll end up spiking the cheap cough-medicine punch before absconding —

— or whether Keith is just like him, turning down fancy dinners in favour of a quiet night in the comfort of his own room. 

In the window, Keith slurps up the last of his take-out pasta and wipes his mouth on that salmon pink orientation tee (Keith seems to only wear it when he feels like being a slob) and burps so loud Shiro hears.

Keith also hears Shiro's laugh, and to that makes a show of rolling his eyes before promptly ignoring him.

This is a sign. Surely it has to be. There are many things potential dinner dates will do to get your attention, and ignoring your partner is not one of them. Right?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're really happy that a whole lot of you are enjoying this fic!!! we love each and every one of you and your comments never fail to make us smile :') enjoy!!

**[Week 10, Friday, 1022]**

When Shiro glances at Keith's window Keith is hopping around the room, frantically trying to pull on a sock. It looks like he's rushing off for something, and wouldn't you know it, Shiro's rushing off too. Matt's uber-famous astronaut dad is giving a talk in the college auditorium and he wouldn't miss it for the world. It doesn't occur to him till this moment that Keith, by way of being Pidge's friend, might be there too.

Shiro launches out the door, down the stairs and out of the lobby and in record time he's slamming into the auditorium, looking out at a sea of heads already seated. He recognises Pidge immediately, a few rows from the front, but slips into the nearest empty seat because the talk's about to start and he can't tell whether the black mop next to Bandana is a mullet or not. He tries to listen to Samuel Holt talking about his dreams of making a manned trip to the Plutonian moon _Kerberos,_  he really does, but it takes him till the Q&A starts to finish scanning the room and finally confirm to himself that Keith is nowhere in sight.

Keith isn't in his major. Shiro had gotten that much out of Pidge on that night at the Holts', but because he was trying to _not be embarrassing_ about it, he didn't get any more information than that. And after the break ended and they'd moved back into dorm, Shiro didn't look for Keith. He never did.

And honestly, he didn't want to. Once his high school biology teacher put a blown-up microscope view of human skin on the projector screen and forced the class to look at it: hairy, porous, shedding, disgusting. But that's just how it goes — anything can look perfect from afar, but even though all of science is about getting closer to the unknown, sometimes close is just too close.

 

 

**[Week 11, Thursday, 0334]**

Three weeks to final exams and Shiro's glad not to be alone at night.

Weeks 10 through 12 are the most testing weeks of any semester, regardless of your major, your life experience, or how much of a big shot you are. If you've been resisting that bottle of vodka stashed away in your underwear drawer, if you've made a resolution to stop taking shots of energy drinks and coffee, if you've been so certain you could make it without blowing your entire month's budget on stress shopping, well, this is the time when everything goes to hell and nothing is okay.

Said bottle sits half empty on the desk, Red Bull cans form a pile beside the bin, and there are at _least_ twenty empty packets of chips and other instant foods crammed in a corner of the room —

— wow, Keith's life has gone downhill, and fast.

Shiro on the other hand has only opened his third bottle for the semester and it's how he gets himself through the week. Through anything. Dull the nagging existential questions and hey, what do you know, the mindless repetition and numerical formulae suddenly become tolerable — look, Shiro doesn't need to love doing his homework, it's a shitty misconception because why is he doing his sums when they have supercomputers for this nonsense (yes, he knows about the importance of rote learning and concept mastery, indulge him please).

Keith tips more drink into his mug (vodka dry, poor thing must be in a real bad place). When he makes for his favorite spot on the windowsill Shiro comes to the rude realisation that Keith is even more beautiful drunk, goddammit; he moves with confidence and beautiful grace that only comes when alcohol's oiling those joints. Folding himself against the window he is a splotch of fiery red backlit by yellow light, an easy picture of reckless abandon that Shiro can't pull his eyes away from.  

And the bastard raises his mug and one eyebrow, smug and radiating _Dude, you coming or what?_

Shiro has a lab report due in two days and he's having problems with his data, his discussion section's going to be hellish — but Keith actually clicks his tongue at him and the sound echoes easily in the still, humid air, so Shiro closes his laptop and clambers onto his own windowsill armed with some tequila.

They waste the night away like that, wordlessly, pretending they're staring and pretending to not, and through it all Shiro tries to convince himself that it's the drink making his face burn.

 

 

**[Week 11, Thursday, 0831]**

When Shiro wakes up, he's 28 minutes late for lab and Keith's still there — cheek smeared against the glass, bottle tipped on the sill with a shallow pool of vodka leaking from its mouth.

Shiro wipes the drool off his own face and makes no move to leave whatsoever, slowly dredging last night's memories from his hangover haze. It seems like nothing happened, nothing they'd regret (nothing he'd ever forget). But yet, it feels like the most intimate thing he's done in a while. Maybe ever.

 

 

**[Week 12, Wednesday, 0222]**

Week 11 Thursday does not repeat itself, mostly because neither of them have the time to waste another night like that. On some nights, Keith doesn't return to his room at all. He's probably got a million and one group projects — such is freshman year — and even though Shiro's clocked his fair share of sleeping-bag nights in the lab he can't help but feel for him.

It occurs to Shiro that he passes Keith's door every day — it should have been obvious, given their ridiculous dorm layout and how Shiro has to walk down the hall, right, and right again to get to the male bathroom, but to him that window's always belonged to another world. But tonight he finds himself counting rooms as he's on his way to the shower and suddenly there he is, standing in front of 18-112, and his feet refuse to move.

He knows Keith's not in. Shiro always knows when Keith's not in. And that's the only reason why he knocks, because there's no way anyone will answer, and this door and this room and this window only needs to be that much more real.

 

 

**[Week 13, Sunday, 0152]**

The last essay is submitted. The first exam is tomorrow.

It seems that’s the same for Keith too, because both of them get up from their desks two hours before their usual routine. Keith shoots him a sheepish grin when he notices. Shiro just grins back, too unhinged from thirteen hours of straight cramming and the sight of Keith in the black V-neck with such a delicious cut.

He half-contemplates marching over with a can of “good luck all the best” Red Bull and the corresponding signifier: a sleepy "good best all the luck". How would Keith react? Does Keith get "best good the all luck" Red Bull from his friends? Would he chug it on the spot or down it outside the exam hall?

Keith taps his wrist. Shiro suddenly remembers the time, that he has a final tomorrow, that he shouldn't be standing in front of his window doing nothing but stare.

When Shiro comes back after washing up Keith is still there smirking. And he probably doesn't even stop after both their lights are out.

Shiro just lies in bed, dumbly staring at the slowly reddening sky, replaying the sight of Keith saluting him good luck as if they're both marching off to war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [@Chris_White](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Chris_White/pseuds/Chris_White) has very kindly let us know:
> 
> Having Vodka (alcohol in general) and Red Bull (energy drinks in general) together can quite literally kill you. Depressing and surging the nervous system at the same time is dangerous. People have died.
> 
>  
> 
> Please make responsible life decisions, we should also probably edit that bit out later :')


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you once again for all your kudos, comments and support!! we have now officially caught up to real time, sort of, at least in our country x) wishing all students the best for their exams, and we hope that this new sheith development will give you some happiness along the way ❤

**[Week 15, Wednesday, 1331]**

The exams begin, and they keep going, and Shiro wishes he could say he was used to it. But every march to the exam hall wears at him — climbing up the hill from hell, navigating the shitty sports complex that doubles as the school’s exam hall, fighting the urge to pore through the last unstudied chapter while walking because he is  _ totally on top of his shit  _ (when has he ever been). Every astrophysics papers is purgatory, as they always have been, and he returns to his dorm like a dead man walking. And every night gets at least one glance from Keith, who’s usually back earlier than him, as though making sure Shiro’s still alive before diving back into his books.

The looks they share are of deep understanding. Keith always looks like he’s been through the wringer too.

So it’s somehow fitting that for Shiro’s last paper, Keith’s in the hall with him — some freshman general education module is sharing their hall space and there’s that red shirt, the one Keith left his room in this morning, six seats in front of Shiro and one to the right. It’s Shiro’s easiest paper, so it doesn’t matter too much that his eyes stray almost constantly to Keith’s tangled mullet hunched low over the desk, bobbing to the stroke of his pen. Or bobbing in slumber, it's impossible to tell. Shiro realises that he has no idea how Keith’s grades are. Keith knows how to mug, but that could lead to anything.

When the paper ends, Shiro rides the wave of jubilation out the doors and into the crowd — and almost nose-first into Keith’s fireball red shirt. Oh  _ god. _ Shiro’s face burns just as scarlet as the crowd surges on, pressing them close. Now what, now what, now what? Could it be? Was it finally time? He could offer a congratulations and ask him out for a drink, all casual, just like it wasn’t their first time speaking to each other after fourteen weeks, the first time Shiro would hear his voice —

But Keith’s nose-deep in a textbook, maybe for the evening paper, maybe for tomorrow. Shiro lets the crowd sweep him away.

 

 

**[Week 15, Friday, 1346]**

On the last day of exams, the ticket booth for the end-of-sem dinner appears in the lobby.

Everyone is there. _ Everyone. _ From the haggard, soulless, visibly high final-year student to the shiny-eyed first year hoping to kiss their partner in the midst of the festivities, and the ones who are just there to hog the photobooth and embarrass themselves on nothing but the free spritzers.

He hovers just out of the throng of people. Five quid for a night of debauchery. Even without trying, everyone knows at least one wild story from the various end of sem dinners over the past few years. He knows, for instance, that Matt gets a ridiculous rush from the lethal combination of roasted peanuts and a bottle of smuggled vodka and becomes suave enough to obtain four phone numbers, kiss their resident professor (admittedly, one that Matt has been not-so-secretly admiring for years) and pass out in someone else’s food. Not in that order.

Prospects are not good. Sure Shiro doesn’t get batshit wasted when he drinks, but when you’re caught up in the heady thrill of good company and great food it’s really quite impossible to resist the little cupid whispering  _ It’s the end of the semester, fuck everything _ in your ear.

His mind wanders, and he lets it. He thinks back to that one time Keith returned from an evening run (Week 12, Thursday, 2135) with sweat pearling on the tips of his hair, practically glowing in that way only athletes can — that lithe body twisting on the dance floor, those all-seeing eyes eating him up from all the way across the dinner room, beckoning him closer, closer,  _ Come on, Shiro, closer!, _ lips parting —

It’s an oddly familiar voice that interrupts him from his embarrassing reverie. “Two tickets please”, followed by a hand holding out a tenner.

“Ooh, I thought somebody was always too busy to go. Who’s the lucky other one?” the booth attendant’s wearing a shit-eating grin, knowing that some really juicy deets are waiting to be plucked.

“Uh,” Shiro replies, suddenly clutching at straws, brain rioting, common sense storming out the door.

“Okay, Shiro, I get it.” The attendant winks.  _ Your secret’s safe with me. _ (It’s not.) “See you there.”

 

 

**[Week 15, Friday, 1949]**

When Keith returns to his room and all but flings his textbooks on the desk, Shiro thanks every god he knows that there’s no way Keith could possibly know what Shiro’s trying to do.

Probably. At least, that’s what Shiro’s telling himself. The ticket is already under Keith’s door, but Shiro  _ totally _ expected Keith not to notice immediately, from the way he lurches through his post-exam fatigue and collapses onto his bed. He’d get up for his evening shower in a few minutes and then he’d see the ticket lying innocently on the ground — flimsy, blue, and covered with constellations.

Definitely hadn’t noticed yet. Not that he’d already seen it and decided to ignore it, or something.

Couldn’t be. Shiro’d watched him come in — no pauses at the door, not even to latch it shut.

Maybe he would never find it. Maybe he would just pretend it didn’t exist. Not much of a loss, if that was the case. Just ten bucks and never-ending embarrassment for the next one and a half semesters.

But then Keith sits up and his whole body freezes. He reaches down, retrieves the ticket, and stares at it like it’s a gold bar, like it’s a time bomb.

Slowly, excruciatingly, Keith glances over to where he knows Shiro is watching with strangled breath. And  _ then  _ — Shiro’s seen many smirks from Keith over the past fifteen weeks, but this one outshines them all by far.

Keith makes a twirling motion with his finger and Shiro turns accordingly. Only then does he notices that the disaster zone behind his door looks different than usual — among the shoes and career talk tote bags and overflowing wastepaper basket, there’s something peeking out from underneath a crumpled sock. Blue like a starry night.

Another ticket. Shiro turns back to the window and Keith’s collapsed against the glass, laughing helplessly. And once Shiro sees that, he can’t help but burst into hysterics himself. God, they’re so ridiculous, but Shiro hasn’t felt this happy in a long time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so here's the last chapter! it's been a long time coming, and we're glad we were able to give you some feel-good happiness with these dumb boys. thanks for sticking with us over the last fifteen weeks!! or five in real time, haha. it's still exam period right now, so remember to hydrate and take lots of eye breaks!! maybe you'll discover something good out your window ☆

**[Week 15, Saturday, 1747]**

The end-of-sem dinner’s theme is  _ La La Land,  _ because of course it is. Strains of  _ City of Stars  _ escape from behind the doors as Shiro strides up to the blinged-out dining hall, adjusting his tie and rolled-up shirt sleeves.

Crowds are tough for Shiro. He knows it’s probably just him being dumb and maybe a little self-conceited but he can feel eyes on him from all around. Doesn’t help he’s one of the tallest guys and his broad shoulders force him to brush up against approximately a billion people as he makes his way over to the quietest tables. He still tries to make small talk. That gorgeous dress, the fantastic dye job, a perfectly cut suit… it doesn’t help that his mouth’s dry and his mind is travelling a mile a second, dreading and yet dying to meet —

Haloed by amber light, Keith is already nursing a thin flute of champagne (or sparkling apple juice), wearing a sleek maroon vest and a breathtaking smirk while constellations shine in his dark eyes. 

Let’s say Shiro’s still walking. Basic functional skills are very important, after all, but they don’t stop him from observing many things about this cosmic phenomenon. For example, Keith

a. looks like he’s been waiting for this since forever.  
b. lounges on the wooden dining hall chair like he’s king of the universe.  
c. is more beautiful than ever seemed possible.

Keith rests his chin on his palm, smiling now to match Shiro’s as he takes a seat opposite. It’s hard not to get caught up in the languid, easy confidence that radiates from Keith in waves. 

“So,” he says in a voice like honey, and Shiro has to swallow  _ hard _ so he doesn’t swoon right there, "We meet at last.”

Pulling himself together with a mental kick, Shiro activates every ounce of his diplomatic skills to say, “Yes.” 

Keith laughs then, like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard in his life. His eyelashes are so long, the fingers curling around the stem of the glass so slender and pale. 

“You gonna make some decent conversation, or am I going to have to slowly win your heart over with coffee dates and space pick-up lines?”

(His weakness… Keith must have been watching him put up that NASA poster all those weeks ago.)

“Unlike coffee dates, a good conversation will need an entire night.” He’s shocked by his own answer but it makes something fierce glint in the depths of Keith’s eyes.

Keith leans forward, all but drawing Shiro in. "Well, I know a fire escape that’ll take us up onto the roof if you want to grab some drinks and get out of here.”

“Sure you don’t want to stay for the food? I hear they invited a world-class chef just for the occasion.”

Keith contemplates, then proposes, “And the music’s pretty good. What say you: dinner and a dance?”

"Don't mind if I do."

And then Keith pulls him — god, that hand on his — across the hall to demolish half the buffet before they finally hit the dance floor and it’s exactly as it should be. He’d been terrified of seeing him up close before but that was foolish, he realises now, nothing could stop Keith from being perfect the way he is. And thank god, thank all the gods, that Keith’s eyes and ears and hands drink Shiro up just as fervently, desperately, as Shiro’s soaking up him. They dance like planets in orbit, like a lonely moon around a infinite sun, like they've been at each other's sides so much longer than a few minutes, a few days, a few months from a glance through windows as perfectly aligned as the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #heislookingatkeith


End file.
